Confidence that borders on arrogance. Execution the moment an opening appears.
It pissed Zazan off.
Like accidentally flashing the waistband of your underwear, only for the other guy to instantly guess the brand.
And the guy doing it was just some kid.
The real problem was—
What the hell had happened to this kid?
A thick sense of wrongness welled up in Zazan's chest, followed by a quiet bloom of killing intent.
Duty was duty, but he hated unknowns. Hated the creepy, slippery feeling crawling under his skin.
Kill him…?
Zazan's gaze flicked to the blood still dripping from Moro's knee. He frowned.
This "blood pack" was high-priority cargo. Better watch a little longer.
He'd already opened a wound—that barely satisfied the activation condition. He just had to wait a bit more.
A few extra minutes, and [Data Knife] would kick in. Then the kid would be his puppet.
Decision made: kill intent rose, then fell, then settled into cold patience.
"They say things don't happen three times," Zazan said casually, twirling the knife like it was a toy. His voice cooled. "So don't even think about running. That way you might still live."
"They also say listen to advice and you'll eat your fill," Moro answered, eyes locked on Zazan's aura fluctuations. "So I'm not running. That way you still have a chance to catch me."
"…"
Zazan's mouth twitched.
If not for his orders and the need to wait for the condition…
That knife in his left hand would already be buried in the kid's throat. He wouldn't be standing here trading barbs.
Ever since leaping out of the truck, Moro had been reading Zazan's aura like an open book.
Emotions and stray thoughts leaked through aura if you weren't disciplined enough.
Zazan clearly wasn't.
Moro had watched the killing intent flare and fade in real time.
Which meant the "don't damage the merchandise" rule could be bent when the situation called for it.
So Moro believed the threat was real—and immediately scrapped any plan that relied on Zazan holding back.
Mercy-chase and murder-chase were completely different games.
Only one option left: take him head-on.
Moro spread his manifested aura evenly across his whole body.
Awakening had been rushed, but the sync was coming along fast. Body and aura were slotting together like they'd never been apart.
At this rate, lag or backlash wasn't going to screw him over.
Good. My margin for error is razor-thin.
Moro kept his eyes on Zazan while thinking.
Both of them had reasons to wait, so the mountain road suddenly went eerily quiet.
Moro was waiting for perfect sync—minimize mistakes.
Zazan held the initiative and preferred a bloodless win—he was waiting for his ability to trigger.
Neither broke the strange truce.
One minute. Two. Three…
As time dragged, their mindsets shifted.
Zazan figured he was in complete control, so the kid standing still didn't bother him. He just had to wait for the effect, then it was over.
Moro had more to chew on.
On paper, the enemy was stronger.
But ever since that knife only grazed his leg, Moro had felt something off:
The guy had no urgency about time.
That was the problem.
I'm waiting to fight at full power.
What is he waiting for?
Moro's gaze slid to the knife pinched in Zazan's left hand.
Left-handed—decent chance of Conjurer, but only a data point.
Conjurers unconsciously pool more aura in their dominant hand when the ability isn't active.
But accuracy depends on the ability not being in use yet.
When Moro first jumped out and spun around, the knife was already in hand.
And from the bulges under the jacket—probably more physical knives hidden.
Also, the one still stuck in the cargo wall hadn't vanished.
Multiple conjured items were possible, but unlikely.
Low chance the knives were conjured at all.
Which ruled out nasty wound-triggered effects for now.
So the analysis leaned optimistic…
But six months in the cutthroat antique trade—where scams were the air you breathed—had taught Moro one iron rule:
When interests clash, anything the opponent obviously wants is exactly what you do not want to give them.
Even without hard intel, letting this stall continue would likely cost more than it gained.
With current sync… I should be able to skip the warm-up and fire Deceitful Shooting Star straight away.
Right?
…Probably.
No 100% certainty, but when you're this far behind, you don't get clean test runs.
Decision made.
Moro locked onto the pistol lying on the ground closer to him, then gathered aura in his right palm.
A soft fluorescent green glow blossomed like a seed sprouting.
On the truck's side.
Shock flashed through Zazan's eyes.
A Nen ability… already?!
He just opened his nodes…!
Alarm bells screamed. Shock turned to killing intent.
Right then—Moro successfully activated Deceitful Shooting Star.
A marble-sized fluorescent green bullet shot from his palm, straight at Zazan's chest.
Unsure of the ability's details and seeing it wasn't that fast, Zazan sidestepped easily.
At the same moment—
Moro scooped up the pistol, raised it, and ripped off eleven rapid shots.
BANG BANG BANG…
Zazan's eyes went cold. He leaped and shifted again, dodging the storm of bullets.
"P922. Twelve-round mag."
After evading, he raised his knife slightly and began walking forward.
"You fired eleven on purpose, hoping to turn the tables with the last one?" His voice was ice. "But I'm more curious…"
Killing intent boiled over.
"You know guns. You have a Nen ability… So who the hell are you?!"
BANG!
The twelfth and final bullet answered him.
At the exact same instant, Zazan hurled his knife.
Bullet trailing heat, knife wrapped in aura—they passed each other mid-flight, racing toward their targets.
Zazan's face was stone.
One bullet? He could tank it with aura.
His knife? It would kill the kid.
The situation had spiraled way past acceptable—he no longer cared about explaining to the boss.
He watched the knife close on Moro's life, aura flaring to block the bullet.
THOOM—
But before he could see the blade punch through, searing pain exploded in his back.
Impact followed a split-second later. Vision blurred, blood sprayed from his mouth.
"Wha—what…?"
Shock rocked him as consciousness faded.
On the other side.
The aura-wrapped knife tip had already broken Moro's skin—
Yet it stopped, unable to push another millimeter.
A moment later it dissolved into smoke and vanished.
"Phew."
Dust settled. Moro lowered the smoking pistol.
Even now he still wasn't sure what Zazan's ability actually was.
But he was damn glad the man he faced today had been someone like Zazan.
Anyone else with a different personality…
And he'd already be dead a second time.